


Colours

by CrowLikesShinyThings



Category: Ib (Video Game)
Genre: (at least in my opinion), Gen, Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Promise of Reunion Ending, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 11:25:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5002951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowLikesShinyThings/pseuds/CrowLikesShinyThings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The paintings look alive, don't they Ib?" They found her an hour later sitting at the base of a statue, smiling bitterly.</p><p>[Cross-posted from FF.Net]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colours

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from FF.Net:  
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10336691/1/Colours

_“The paintings look like they’re alive, don’t they Ib?”_  
  
_“…”_  
  
_“So beautiful …”_  
  
_They found her an hour later sitting at the base of a statue, smiling bitterly._  
  
_It was a smile a nine year old shouldn’t have._

* * *

“Ib, what are you doing?”  
  
Ib climbed onto her father.  
  
“You’re warm.”  
  
“Of course I am.”  
  
“And you have a heartbeat.”  
  
“Yes, I do.”  
  
“You’re _real.”_  
  
“Ib, are you crying?”

* * *

“Ib, you’re scaring us. Please tell us what’s wrong.”  
  
Her mother begged, trying not to cry.  
  
“I’m fine, mother.”

* * *

_Flick._  
  
_[Garry’s lighter had been cold and solid in her hand.]_  
  
_Flick._  
  
_[Mary screamed as she burned.]_  
  
_Flick._  
  
_[Fire was life.]_  
  
_Flick._

* * *

“Now Ib, can you tell me about the exhibit?” the lady with the round glasses said kindly.  
  
“…”  
  
“Your mother said that is was displaying the works of Guertena. Did you enjoy the paintings, Ib? No?”  
  
The little girl was silent, impassive and blank.  
  
“I heard that you threw away all of your paintings. Did you not like them anymore?”  
  
She shook her head.  
  
_[Her mother found them in the fireplace. Torn, discarded and covered in ash.]_  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“…”  
  
“What about your rabbit? Why did you cut it up with scissors?”  
  
_[The adorable rabbits became dolls with thick hair and red eyes.]_  
  
“…”  
  
“Did a rabbit bite you?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Why do you think you are so afraid?”  
  
_[He was insane.]_  
  
“Red.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“I am _red_.”

* * *

The flower shop was her new favorite place.  
  
Red. Blue. Yellow.  
  
_Redblueyellowredblueyellowredblueyellow–_  
  
“Can I have a blue rose please?”

“I’m sorry little lady, but there’s no such thing.”  
  
“Yes there is, _he_ had one!”

“It probably wasn’t real, I’m sorry.”

 _[It glistened in the watery light, so delicate she thought it would wilt if she breathed.]_  
  
Ib stared at all the roses. They were all wrong.

* * *

“Where did you get a blue rose?”  
  
“I bought it.”  
  
“Ib, you can’t just go running off on your own!”  
  
“I got a red and yellow one too …”  
  
“Those are plastic.”  
  
“They won’t die.”

* * *

**“GARRY!”**  
  
_Crash!_  
  
“Ib, what’s wrong?!”  
  
She couldn’t stop crying – _she couldn’t stop crying._  
  
“She’s going to kill me! Help, _Garry!”_  
  
“Honey I don’t understand. Who’s going to hurt you – who’s Garry?”  
  
_“Please!”_

* * *

“Can you tell me about Garry?” the old lady smelled like flowers.

“Blue.”

“He’s blue, and you’re red?” She nodded.

“What else do you think of when you hear his name?”

“Lady. Lemon candy. Warm coat. Cigarettes. Safe.”

“Did you meet him at the exhibit?”

“…”

“Did he touch you?”

“Why?”

“He might have been trying to hurt you.”

“No.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to worry.”

“No!”

“He can’t–”

_“Shut up!”_

“Ib–”

_“SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!”_

* * *

“I’m sorry Mary, I’m sorry!”

_[Her hair was gold that shone light starlight, eyes Caribbean blue.]_

“Please forgive me.”

_[The pallet knife glinted like glass. Broken glass splashed with red.]_

“I love you …”

* * *

“Can you tell me about Mary this time?”

“Yellow.”

“All three of you have a color?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“She’s my sister.”

“You don’t have a sister, Ib.”

“She is.”

"Where is she then?”

“She’s still at the gallery, and she hates me.”

“Why does she hate you?”

“We burned her painting.” 

* * *

“She won’t trust us,” the mother was scared.

“And she’s scared all the time!” the father was angry.

The old lady sighed, “It takes time.”

“Can’t she talk to someone about it?”

“She doesn’t trust me either, I’m afraid.”

“Then who does she trust?”

“Garry.”

* * *

He looked very tired.

“Hello Ma’am, my name is Garry,” he thrust a boxed cake into her hands, “I’m sorry to intrude …”

“You said your name is Garry?”

“Ah, y-yes.”

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen, Ma’am.”

_Is this him?_

_“GARRY!”_

Ib latched onto the man, sobbing happily.

She was _smiling_ for the first time in months.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, I met your daughter at an art exhibit a few months ago. She couldn’t read a few of the words and I helped her with them, but I accidently cut my hand, so she lent me her handkerchief. I’m here to return it.”

“Garry – you promised to take me to get macrons!”

“Only if your mother allows it, Ib.”

He looked like he expected them to call the police.

She had half a mind too.

“Uh …” 

* * *

 

“I’ve been having nightmares.”

“I know what you mean. It’s not surprising, after what happened, and honestly, I have too.”

“They’re mostly of you,” she tried not to cry, “And Mary.”

“It’s okay to be having nightmares … _anyone_ would be shaken up by something like that, and you and I are no exception.”

“Did we have to burn her painting, Garry?”

“It was either that or … well, she would have killed us.”

The macrons lay forgotten.

“I miss her.”

“In some ways, so do I.”

* * *

She took them out of the basement.

_[They were every single color of the rainbow.]_

“No, her eyes were more like _this_.”

“Oh! I see it now.”

They painted her picture.

“Add the roses, Garry!”

“Give me a moment … there!”

They were covered head to toe in paint.

“It’s perfect.”

“Yeah … looks just like her, doesn’t it?”

Mary smiled back at them.

_[Her laugh was like birds.]_

_'Ib, Garry … I’m home.’_


End file.
